i didn't know i was broken,
until you came along.
puncturing my facade, we laughed in the face
of madness as your rocking canoe
attempted to carry me down my river
of tears. i didn't know then that two halves, temporarily sewn
or, even, maniacally grasping,
can never make a whole. an anchor is simply a weight
holding an object in place.
"but i'm an engine," you would declare, as the rebel in me
continually retorted, "we're not machines, you know?"
this pure heart isn't made of gold. it's soft and pink with millions of holes, as though the miniature
beak of the hummingbird poked through it. some say that this is the only way the light can get in.
all i know is that it's comprised of a distinct color brought to life only through the fluidity of love.
many lifeforms and experiences alight upon it, like the birds and the bees, sharing
a cross-pollination of that which has come before while sipping upon
its sweet nectar - the same alchemical process that the ancients have poetically
waxed upon for centuries. it's simply taken me thirty-five years to understand this.
now whole, i honor the past from which all of the breaking open came
as i gratefully dance through this present while intending a just and harmonious future,
for all.
there's nothing more.
